


Kings on a Railway Platform

by Stripe_Conlon



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idk what i'm doing, M/M, am I using the tags right, anxious Race, jack kelly (ish), king of new york, racetrack higgins - Freeform, spot conlon - Freeform, spot is not always angry, sprace love, tHIS IS SO SHORT, tiny tiny oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stripe_Conlon/pseuds/Stripe_Conlon
Summary: "Jack Kelly can’t hold on to nothin’ or nobody. He breaks away and goes before someone else can quit on him first"Race doesn't know how to be a King. Maybe Spot isn't entirely sure himself, but he knows how to be there for Race.





	Kings on a Railway Platform

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yo this is so short, idk what I'm doing and I've never posted on AO3 but anyway here is my tiny addition to the Sprace fic trash heap :)

The King of Manhattan and the King of Brooklyn sit together under the concrete canopy, sheltering from the downpour.

“…I guess I never thought it’d be like dis. A coneration, I means.”

“Coronation? Huh.” Spot scuffs his shoe on the stones beneath him, losing the polish, but half the boys on Brooklyn Bridge owe him a shine. He brushes his fingers lightly over Race’s. “We all knew Kelly’d be outta here sooner or later. He ain’t a city boy. He don’t love the bridge and the alleyways and the high-rises and the street sellin’ and Sheepshead. He ain’t like us. He needs…”

Spot gestures vaguely at the rain: he doesn’t know what Jack needs. He’s almost too angry to say his name, but holds that in, because Race deserves to be the angry one this time.  
Spot is tired of _always_ being the angry one.  
And yelling only makes your throat sore. Punching walls only makes your knuckles bleed.

“Yeah, but not _so_ soon! I mean, he couldn’t even wait a coupl’a days after the strike before hittin’ da road wid his girl.” Race grimaces at the thought. “And I’d like ta see how long that’ll last. Jack Kelly can’t hold on to nothin’ or nobody. He breaks away and goes before someone else can quit on him first, just like he split on Crutchie and Dave and Specs an' the rest'a us.”

The boy resents his crown, not won in bloody glory like Spot’s or from the spoils of war, but foisted upon him when he least expected it. He’s a jester, a joker, a fool in the pack.

He was never supposed to be a monarch.

Spot is still uncharacteristically diplomatic. “Dey seem pretty close ta me. She’s not a bad girl either… if dat’s what you likes.”

“What d’ya like?”

“Hmm… Of course, wiv who I is, I gots my pick, but… boys wiv crowns on dere head and cigars in dere mouth?” He leans closer, wiping away the hot tears that streak Race’s cheeks, wiping away for a moment the anger and fear and hopelessness the boy feels at Jack running away like that, almost without a backwards glance, and leaving him to look after it all. “Boys who are strong enough ta lead. Dat’s what I like.”

“…shuddup and gimme a kiss, Brooklyn,” Race sniffs, choking back the sobs and allowing the trace of a smile to return.

“Why, it’d be my pleasure, your Highness.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Now, first thing's first: an alliance 'tween Manhattan and Brooklyn" :)


End file.
